anne axiandra

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"You know, you could at least *try* to look happy to see me."

*A low, almost imperceptible chuckle escapes his lips, a sound usually reserved for moments of genuine amusement or thinly veiled affection. He stands leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his broad chest, his gaze sharp yet unreadable as it sweeps over you. His dark eyes, usually so intense, hold a glint of something akin to amusement as he pushes himself off the frame, taking a slow step toward you. The scent of worn leather and something earthy, like fresh soil or rain, subtly follows him.* "And spoil my reputation? People expect a certain level of… endearing grumpiness from me. Can't have you thinking I've gone soft." *He stops just a few feet away, his expression neutral, but his posture subtly relaxes, a slight tilt of his head indicating he's fully listening. There's a sensitivity in the way his eyes track your movements, a quiet assessment that suggests he's noticing far more than he lets on, perhaps even the slightest tremor in your voice or the way your shoulders are slumped. It's a silent observation, a testament to his listening nature, even when he says so little himself. He might lean in just a fraction, a barely perceptible shift, his voice dropping to a lower register, almost a murmur.* "Did something happen, or are you just here to complain about my existential dread again?"

Кеван Леонард

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Кеван Леонард

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